


brothers in more than name

by ArsenicInYourPudding



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, slight spoilers for The Dream Thieves, tw: discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArsenicInYourPudding/pseuds/ArsenicInYourPudding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, you tell a lie as much for yourself as for another person. </p>
<p>Or, letting Gansey draw his own conclusions is sometimes the safest option for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brothers in more than name

**Author's Note:**

> Idk guys, this weekend was hard and I was sad and I ended up writing this at 2am when I finally accepted that sleep probably wasn't going to happen. So if it seems a little off-kilter, do me a favor and chalk that up to Ronan's mental state, not mine.
> 
> also, title is from Always Gold by Radical Face, which i 100% recommend listening to and thinking about all of the boys but particularly Adam and/or Ronan re: Gansey and Noah re: the rest of them. suffer with me, guys, come on.

When Ronan wakes up, he is not alone. 

This, you understand, hasn’t happened since he and Matthew stopped sharing a bedroom when he was eight, and in Ronan’s muddled state -  _ he’d been sleeping, but not dreaming, and the separation of the two seemed unnatural now -  _ this startles him. He blinks hard, twice, and twists. A long, thin plastic tube pulls up from the inside of his forearm, twisting with him.

A hand is on his face, followed swiftly by a forehead pressed against his. “ _ Jesus _ , Ronan,” Gansey hisses, like glass. His breath his warm against Ronan’s cheek.

It doesn’t flood back to him, the events of last night -  _ flooding  _ would imply it left in the first place. Still, Ronan’s muscles quit working momentarily, going slack against the emergency room bed as he re-processes what seems to be going on. Unfortunately, this very involuntary redirection of all of Ronan’s brain power away from things like responding to Gansey or seeming like he wasn’t vanishing into his own head, and toward, well, vanishing into his own head, is the exact wrong thing to do if the goal is reassuring Gansey, who gazes anxiously into Ronan’s face and lets his hand slip down to the ball of his shoulder, like he’s intent on shaking him. “Ronan,” he says urgently, and he sounds about ready to  _ cry _ .

With an effort, Ronan blinks, focusing again. “What,” he mumbles. “God, why are you staring at me like that.”

“ Why am I-- God  _ damnit _ , Ronan!”

It is possibly the first time he’s ever heard Gansey swear in earnest, not just merely taking the Lord’s name in vain. It startles him into trying to sit up, to put them on even footing for what promises to be a spectacularly awkward argument.

Gansey drops from his brief foray into anger back toward the grief and fear he’d been wearing before. He sets his palm against Ronan’s chest and presses gently, to keep him from rising further. “No, don’t, please. I’m sorry. I--” He falters. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what,” Ronan asks, confused. Absently, he picks at the tape holding the IV in place.

Gansey reaches across him and folds his fingers around Ronan’s wrist, pulling his hand away from the tape. He pulls both of their hands back to Ronan’s other side, where his hand stays curled around Ronan’s wrist. For a moment, something bitchy about not needing a babysitter rises like a pyroclastic flow on his tongue, and then Gansey’s eyes drop to their hands, and his thumb swipes gently over the inside of Ronan’s wrist, just above the gauze taped to the inside. The words cool and shatter, filling his mouth with rubble, and he ducks his head.

“ I should’ve--” Gansey bites his lip, his face creased with stress. Carefully, Ronan extricates his wrist and slides his hand through Gansey’s fingers until their palms are pressed together - Gansey’s is cold and clammy, and Ronan gives it a small, desperate squeeze. “Ronan, I had no  _ idea _ , I’m so--”

For a brief, irrational second, Ronan’s heart flips in his chest.  _ He knows oh god he knows what  _ now  _ what do I-- _

“ You could’ve told me you were feeling like this, told  _ someone _ . God, Ronan, that’s what friends are  _ for _ , you didn’t have to deal with this on your own.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Ronan says automatically. It’s the truth, because of course it is, but Gansey’s heartbroken expression tells him that it’s not the truth Gansey thinks he’s hearing. He chews his lip, tasting blood when a canine punctures the inside skin, and fishes for a way to soften the situation. “It’s... It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”

“ You’re my  _ best friend _ ,” Gansey insists, like the very foundations of the world as we know it will crumble to ash if Ronan doesn’t understand this one thing. “You, Ronan Lynch, are my  _ brother _ , and I am  _ begging.  _ Please. Don’t--” He swallows, bowing his head over Ronan’s arm. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, smothered in aching sadness and worry. “Please don’t do this to me again. I don’t want to lose you.”

The situation is so complicated that Ronan finds himself trapped and helpless and seized by the urge to either start laughing or throw something. Instead, he grips Gansey’s hand back as hard as the abused muscles in his forearm can manage and looks up at him sadly. “I can’t promise that,” he whispers, because there is nothing he hates more than false platitudes. (Which, honestly, explains why he and Declan never got along.)

Gansey sucks in a rough, stuttering breath and blinks hard a couple times. Without warning, his hand releases Ronan’s, only a second before both of his arms are around Ronan’s upper arms, dragging him up off the bed and into a crushing hug. “You  _ can’t _ ,” he chokes, into the crook of Ronan’s neck. “Don’t you get it? We  _ can’t _ lose you, Ronan.  _ I can’t _ .”

One of Gansey’s hands cups the back of Ronan’s neck, and the stress and fear and pain catches up with Ronan all at once, like a night terror sinking claws straight through him. He presses his face against the shoulder of Gansey’s sweater and hides, his composure crumbling against the force of Gansey’s desperate embrace. He cries, the way he hasn’t since the night after they lowered his father into the ground, hands clutching for purchase at Gansey’s back. He’s probably stretching the sweater balled up in his fists - the fleeting thought, oddly, just makes him feel more guilty.

After a long few minutes, the tension bleeds out of Gansey’s muscles - the hug seems to have reassured him more than anything else did, which makes Ronan wonder why they don’t do this more often. He’s not generally a hugger himself, but this is nice. Safe. He can understand the appeal. “Promise me,” he says urgently, right next to Ronan’s ear. “Promise me that this won’t happen again.”

“ I  _ can’t _ \--”

“ You  _ have to _ ,” Gansey interrupts, and Ronan freezes. Gansey made a point of not interrupting people, some bullshit about being an Active Listener. It  _ was _ bullshit because no one ever listened, especially when they knew they weren’t going to like what was about to be said, and Gansey had always just been dishonest about it. Gansey sucks in a deep breath and presses his cheek against Ronan’s temple. “I’m not-- I’m not asking you to promise that you won’t feel like this, I wouldn’t do that to you, Ronan. But  _ please, _ I am  _ begging you _ , don’t  _ do this _ again. Talk to me - talk to  _ anyone _ , Ronan, just  _ please  _ don’t try to go this alone.”

Truth be told, Ronan actually hated being alone, wanted nothing more than someone who  _ knew  _ him, but what were his choices? Declan, who hated him? Matthew, who, by universal agreement, was too pure to be dragged into the sordid mess that was Ronan’s life? Gansey, who had so much going on, far too much to be dealing with Ronan’s bullshit? There was no one who wouldn’t look at him as a hazard or as a responsibility, and Ronan had always preferred being a danger to himself than being a danger to others when he could manage it. It was lonely as all hell, but the thought of collateral damage made him sick. “I  _ can’t _ ,” Ronan insists finally, the words muffled by Gansey’s sweater. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Gansey goes rigid, and Ronan knows this is both the best and worst thing he could’ve possibly said. Best, because now Gansey is too focused on defending himself to cross-examine Ronan any further. Worst, because now he’s wounded, and that’s the last thing Ronan ever wants to do. Ronan tucks his face harder into the front of Gansey’s shoulder and tries to ignore the ragged, festering guilt gaping in his chest. His arm itches under the gauze.

“Maybe I wouldn’t,” Gansey says, his voice soft and aching, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me. I will listen, Ronan, please believe that.”

_ If you knew the truth, I bet you wouldn’t _ , Ronan thinks, but for once in his life, holds his tongue.

After a tense second, Gansey shifts, his lips pressing against Ronan’s temple. “I love you,” he says, and the part of Ronan that would be immediately inclined to give him shit for it is mercifully silent. “You’re my brother, and I love you, and I just want to know that you’re safe, that’s all I want.”

“M’not safe,” Ronan mumbles, because it’s the truth. His own mind is trying to kill him.

“I know,” Gansey whispers back, and Ronan cringes at how sad and helpless he sounds. “And I’ll do everything in my power to help, you know that.”

_ You can’t help me,  _ Ronan thinks miserably, clinging to Gansey’s sweater.  _ There isn’t anyone in the world who can help me now. _

 


End file.
